


Welcome to Beacon Hills

by goldenmeme



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Derek is a nogoodnik, Gen, Lydia is Perfect, Welcome to Night Vale Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenmeme/pseuds/goldenmeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Welcome to Night Vale remix of Teen Wolf.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Try-outs for the Beacon Hills High lacrosse team will be held today! The Coach encourages all non-humans to try out, as they will be guaranteed a spot on the First Line no matter how many puny human team members they injure due to unchecked rage issues. No, really, the Coach said. Mere human strength is for chumps. Do your best to injure your human teammates. It leaves more room on the team for those among you who possess unnatural—some might say supernatural—reflexes.</i></p><p>  <i>If you’d like to try out, be at the Beacon Hills High Death Arena and Track at 3pm. Try to be on time, and possess uncanny, inhuman strength.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to Beacon Hills

The moon is high. Death is in the air… and on the ground. Really, mostly on the ground. Possibly about six feet beneath it.

Welcome to Beacon Hills.

.

Listeners, today The Sherriff--my dad--reported to me through the private phone call which, unbeknownst to him, I was listening in on, that half of the body on an unknown woman was discovered in the Murder Woods. I did not receive word as to whether it is the top half or the bottom half that they are looking for, but I often find that a little uncertainty adds to the surprise, don’t you?

Further investigation on the part of myself and my best friend, Scott showed that the Murder Woods are a frightening place at night, which the Sherriff—my dad—believes is an unfit place for teenagers, particularly when a vicious murderer is on the loose. I was provided with a police escort to my Jeep, and sent home. Scott remains lost and alone in the Murder Woods, where I abandoned him. I’m sure he’s fine. More on that later, assuming anyone ever hears from him again.

And now, traffic.

.

There have been reports of a teenager wandering the back roads of Beacon Hills in a stupor. The teenager is described as male, of Hispanic origin, and covered in blood, having been mauled by a wild animal. Perhaps a cougar, or a mountain lion. If you see this teenager, you are advised to narrowly avoid running him over and to not, under any circumstances, stop to help him.

.

Listeners, I’ve received word from Scott. Reportedly, after I abandoned him in the Murder Woods, he successfully located the body! It was the top half! Isn’t that exciting? It was grey and lifeless, as most dead bodies are, and stared at Scott with clouded, hollow eyes that once saw too much, yet now see nothing.

After locating the body Scott reports being attacked by a wolf--although it is a well-known fact that wolves do not exist in California--and subsequently bitten by the wolf--although his body showed no visible bite marks.

Surely nothing will come of this.

.

Lydia Martin.

Is she a goddess, come to Earth to tempt and inspire men with the liquid cascade of her strawberry blonde curls? Why does the mere tap of her unforgiving heels against the concrete make those she passes fall to their knees and weep; men, and women, and children alike? Her scent, vanilla, with the faint smell of a sanguine red sunrise after the blackest night, lingers in the room long hours after she’s left it, sad, as if it too yearns for the return of her glory. Does she know that I exist? _Can_ she know that I exist? Or is she beyond that, beyond knowing, for knowing sullies us all, and she has transcended such filth? We may never know, for she does not deign to speak to us.

.

Scott reports that there is a new girl in town. Her name is Allison Argent. Her hair is brown. Her shoes make no sound when she walks. No one prostrates themselves at her feet. Clearly this Allison is inferior to Lydia in every way and Scott is woefully confused in thinking that she is the girl of his dreams, as it is well known that only Lydia exists in dreams. In fact, all dreams contain only Lydia. Perhaps in them she will multiply, and take the form of others, or assume the appearance and behavior of a gargantuan monstrosity made entirely of cobbled together spider-limbs and thousands of glinting teeth, chasing you, gnashing its seeping maw, the clack of foot-points echoing inches behind you as you flee, always there, almost upon you, no matter how fast you run… but rest assured that it is only Lydia. Though do not make the mistake of thinking this means you are safe.

Scott, bless his stupid, stupid heart, believes that this Allison is the girl for him. He has most likely been led astray by massive blood loss from his imaginary wolf bites.

The swine.

.

Try-outs for the Beacon Hills High lacrosse team will be held today! The coach encourages all non-humans to try out, as they will be guaranteed a spot on the First Line no matter how many puny human team members they injure due to unchecked rage issues. No, really, the Coach said. Mere human strength is for chumps. Do your best to injure your human teammates. It leaves more room on the team for those among you who possess unnatural—some might say supernatural—reflexes.

If you’d like to try out, be at the Beacon Hills High Death Arena and Track at 3pm. Try to be on time, and possess uncanny, inhuman strength.

.

Derek Hale was seen today, lurking ominously in every single shadow in our small town. Every shadow at once, and occasionally in direct sunlight as well. Lurking. _**Lurking.**_

You remember Derek, whose entire family died horrifically in a fire ten years ago before he fled town, never to be seen again. Until now, that is. I suppose one’s entire family dying horrifically might make a one a little socially awkward, but man, that guy is creep-eee. Maybe shave that stubble, huh, buddy? Wear a hoodie like the rest of us. And that car! It’s no wonder everyone just automatically assumes you’re a murderous beast of supernatural legend.

I think you’ll all agree with me when I say that Derek Hale is undoubtedly responsible for all crime that has yet or will ever happen in our sleepy burg. I mean, that jacket. Leather, Derek? Really? The fashion choice of a recidivist.

.

It seems that Scott has a date with this imposter, Allison Argent. I expressed concern for my friend, considering that he is evidently turning into a werewolf and his date may end on a sour note when his newly acquired thirst for blood leads him to devour Allison’s supple, delicious, ripe flesh on their first date. I mean, slow down! Many girls find it too forward when a guy tries to eat them before the third date. Fellas, just take your time. Don’t scare her off by moving too fast. Remember also to use protection, and always get clear consent before putting any part of her body in your mouth, for any reason.

In response to my concern, Scott very reasonably pinned me to my bedroom wall with newly gained supernatural strength, shouted that he was fine, and barely resisted the urge to kill. He then left to get ready for the party.

What a rousing shindig it promises to be.

.

And now, [the weather](http://goldenmeme.tumblr.com/post/58186248390).

.

Scott reported the smell of blood and a suspicious patch of freshly turned soil at the burned shell that was once Derek Hale’s ancestral home. Naturally, this intrepid reporter and his plucky best friend just had to check it out. Off we went, with shovels in hand, to the creepy house that smelled of blood, and ash, and anguish, deep in the heart of the Murder Woods.

Our grave robbing efforts revealed the top half of an enormous, and very deceased, young wolf—which, upon further desecration of its grave, transformed into the top half of a very deceased young woman.

Listeners, I would be honored if you would join me in jumping to conclusions. I think we can all agree that this Derek Hale, this leather-clad miscreant—whose life is now and will forever be built upon a foundation of unending hardships, one unthinkable tragedy after another, stacked haphazardly one on top of the other like jagged stones until the miasma of the wretched loss and unspeakable betrayal rends his soul in twain, crushes the pieces together, only to rends them again, and crush them, over, and over, and over—this guy is no good. You know? I think it’s pretty clear. He’s just a bad seed, and that’s all he will ever be.

_All._

_He._

_Will._

_Ever._

_Be._

Derek is being held in police custody after some upstanding citizen, who may or may not have been a handsome young radio host, accused him of murdering his own sister. Surely the Sherriff--my dad--who is but a mere human and knows nothing of the supernatural, will be able to hold the bloodthirsty monster effectively while he awaits trial.

.

Well Listeners, it sounds like Scott’s date, against all reason, went well! This despite the fact that at one point he attempted to turn into a wolf, fled the party, and discovered that Allison comes from a family with a centuries-old tradition of dedicating their lives to killing his kind. Her father himself even ended the date by shooting Scott with a crossbow!

Ah, star-crossed love. Disgusting, isn’t it?

Scott and Allison are now kissing at every conceivable opportunity, and let me tell you, Listeners, it is _gross_.

.

The day is done. The killer is behind bars, where he will surely face a speedy trial, and remain incarcerated for the rest of his unnatural life. We can all rest easy, now, knowing that werewolves real. And as such, why not any other number of other gruesome, unthinkable supernatural creatures are real. They are out there Or maybe they’re in here. On your roof. In your kitchen. Waiting, and watching, just beyond your bedroom window, where the light doesn’t reach. What do they want? To kill you, most likely, if you’re lucky. And if you’re not lucky? Well… I hope you like lizards. 

Stay tuned next for the sound of a werewolf doing endless, futile push-ups, for three hours straight.

.

Good night, Beacon Hills. Good night. 

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Beacon Hills is a shameless parody of Welcome to Night Vale by Commonplace Books. WtBH is written by Goldenmeme, and produced by boredom.
> 
> This episode’s weather was Burn, by God’s Favorite Beefcake. Find out more at [the Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/godsfavoritebeefcake)
> 
> Show your support by commenting, loving, or following me on [Tumblr,](http://goldenmeme.tumblr.com) or donating to[Welcome to Night Vale](http://commonplacebooks.com/welcome-to-night-vale) (Which I am in no way associated with, but go support them anyway.)
> 
> Today’s proverb: Have you seen the Muffin Man? No one has. Not for years. Yet still the muffins keep coming.


End file.
